


broken hearts (like broken bones) hurt well

by merrymelody



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-03 12:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13341474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymelody/pseuds/merrymelody
Summary: Title's from a softer world.First chapter's Kelly/Curtis; second Alisha/Nikki; third and fourth Nathan/Simon.Concept is based on ascrapped episode from S2, a forerunner to 2.2 in which the groups powers have reversed permanently.I love comments.





	1. kelly/curtis

So right away Kelly clashes with the prick at community service. 

Alisha's alright, she was a bit full of herself the first few days; but Kelly feels sorry for her since the storm and her power. The guys have been okay, though - she thought Nathan'd take the piss, but he seems pretty shook up himself. 

Curtis and Simon apologized swiftly after the shit they spat at her, but the way everyone edges around her like she's infectious has gotta sting. Kelly doesn't know if it's just blokes her power works on, and she and Alisha are hardly cuddly hair-braiding girls at the best of times; but she's tried her best to at least have her back, should the others get nasty. 

They've all been pretty down since these bullshit powers, though, apart from Simon, who can't quite repress how much he's enjoying it all. 

She gets the feeling he didn't have the best time at school, judging how awkward he acted the first few days, all buttoned up and starey; but she can't really feel too bad for him. He's pretty much the full package; fit, brainy, classy. He definitely didn't grow up on this estate, at any rate, he's not exactly posh, but he naturally takes the lead when they're dealing with the shit that seems to follow them around. 

To be honest, Kelly'd be up for it if he ever fancied a shag, but if anything, that makes her steer clear of him, just in case her shitty power has her blurting out an invitation.

Community service is pretty boring, and she thinks about the other blokes too, but the same issue applies. 

Nathan's cute enough, but his power is hardly a turn on, and he's a bit of a geek to be honest, always interjecting his random jokes at the wrong time, fucking up, spazzing around. 

And Curtis gets under her skin from day one, when he got all up his own arse about wanting a different group. 

Curtis's power is at least useful, unlike the rest of theirs (she guesses Simon probably enjoys the increased chances of getting laid, but that's hardly helpful when covering up your probation worker's body. Besides, he doesn't seem particularly living it up anyway, she's caught him checking out her and Alisha a couple of times, but never actually pulling anyone) and he's saved all their arses with his flashes of what'll happen (not to mention being, alright, fit as fuck); but he's kind of a downer. 

Kelly likes a drink and a laugh, a couple of pills and a spliff or two, but Curtis takes it to a scary level. With Lee and his mates, she was used to being the one most off her face, but Curtis'll do anything, usually dragging Nathan and his plentiful prescriptions along for the ride. 

It's fucked up, the guy was literally parading round schools as a role model six months ago, but a week after the storm, and he's chucked his girlfriend and is out every night ‘til even Kelly's ready for bed. 

She gets the break-up - her power put a spoke between her and Lee pretty speedily; but the sudden partying seems pretty random for a guy who seemed driven as fuck.

One night out, she nips outside for a fag. Nathan and Simon have disappeared somewhere, so she takes the opportunity to have a smoke before Nathan tries to nicks one. She's just stubbing out when she hears retching, and finds Curtis bent over in an alley, spitting and wiping his mouth. 

'You're a fucking mess, mate', her power compels her to offer, despite herself - she's not a fan of the guy, he always gives her the vibe that he thinks he's better than her; but she's finished plenty of nights in the same state. He probably didn't learn how to handle his booze during his teens like the rest of them, what with training for the Olympics. 

She offers him a crumpled tissue, it's got lipstick on it, but beggars can't be choosers. Curtis takes it with a sniff. 'Cheers.'

'Why you being such a dick, anyway?' Kelly continues. 'That first day you was Mr. Celebrity, now you're making Nathan look sorted.'

Curtis mumbles 'prick' absently under his breath.  
He's wearing a sleeveless top, although he's probably not feeling the cold, or anything else at the moment. 

Kelly shrugs off her jacket and drapes it round his shoulders, as much to cover his biceps as out of concern. It would be just her luck to end the evening telling this stuck up dick how fit he is, and how, maybe, she's wondering how his tattoo would taste under her tongue. 

As if he's read her mind, he lunges, reflexes slow enough that she ducks him easily. 'Someone's a friendly drunk,' she offers neutrally. 

'Want a hand, like?' Curtis tries, two fingers against the seam of her jeans. 

For a second she's tempted, but she thinks a drunken fingering outside the club lacks a little romance. 

She shoves Curtis. 'Fuck off!'

'You always such a bitch?' Curtis mutters. 

'You always so pathetic?' Kelly bites back. 'You had everything! Now all you do is get wasted. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you're the only one of us twats who can actually do something when we're done here!'

'I don't do shit!' Curtis spits. 'I should fucking know, that's my power. There ain't no trophies waiting or...I dunno, babies and weddings. All any of us get is blood, and bullets, and...' he trails off. 'What's the point?'

Kelly's brow furrows. 'Look. Let's just...head off, alright. I'll ring a cab.'

'You're alright.' Curtis mutters. 'Alisha's fucked. The other two as well. Seen it, over and over. Getting shot. Stabbed. Pipe through the guts, the fucking smell of it, it was rank, made me puke harder than getting pissed ever did. Can still smell it now.'

Kelly winces, reaching out to stroke his shoulder blades. 'You're saving us. Simon...'

She pauses. Simon thinks there's a big reason behind why they got their powers, that it means something about them, some cosmic irony. Kelly can see it, kind of, she never was one to hold back her thoughts, hence being in community service in the first place. 

Alisha rolled her eyes, pronouncing the theory bullshit; and Nathan was quick to agree, despite his hero worship of Simon. 

Kelly had agreed, considering how useless their powers have proved to be; but she's wondering now if maybe Simon had been onto something. 

It must drive Curtis mental, they never really asked too much detail when he's told them he's gone forward in time; since it's never been in the happiest situations, but to see it all over and over...

'Simon says we got these powers for a reason. Maybe you're protecting us. Like everything you see is another shitfest you stopped.'

'I can't stop it all. It keeps switching. I see you getting your head caved in, then you're choking. And me. See myself with a gun sometimes. To my head.'

Kelly's knees buckle. 'Don't be fucking stupid!' She clips him around the ear before she thinks about it. 

Curtis scowls, rubbing it like she stabbed him. 

‘What? You can talk about that shit, but you can’t handle a slap?’ Kelly doesn’t realise she’s losing it, voice getting louder and higher; until Curtis motions to her and she turns to see a bouncer behind her, attracted by the noise. 

‘What’s happening over here, sweetheart?’ he asks. ‘You two having a lover’s tiff? Bit too much partying?’ 

Curtis looks worried, eyes darting down to her ankle tag, clearly visible over her stiletto heels. If they get in trouble again, it’s gonna be goodbye community service, and hello actual shitstorm. She’s not even supposed to be out past ten; and the last thing Curtis needs is to be seen in a place like this, its nasty reputation is well-deserved.

‘Look, I’m not being funny, right, but can you please fuck off? I’ll be honest with you, you interrupted a bit of a moment out here. Me and my mate were just mopping up puke and talking about superheroes.’

The bouncer gives them both an incredulous look. They look back, and he visibly decides ‘fuck it’. ‘Don’t piss on the pavement, and I ain’t seen ya. Now fuck off home, this int’ a shelter.’ 

'You're a fucking genius'. Curtis murmurs.

'Yes I am,' she smirks proudly. 'C'mon, come back to mine. I'm a great cook, I'll make you somethin' to eat.'

'I like cooking. Baking, like.' Curtis offers, and they both smile suddenly at each other as they head towards the cab rank.


	2. alisha/nikki

They've been doing their community service bullshit a month or so when the probation worker starts in on restorative justice. 

Curtis is farmed off to coach snot-nosed brats at the local school, and Kelly and Nathan are told that as they've committed assaults, they need to make personal amends to their victims. 

Alisha figures since she didn't actually do anything wrong, she can hopefully slope off early; when the twiggy bitch claps her hands like an excited teacher. 

'Alisha! I have something special in mind for you!'

Wertham General. 

At first she thinks Sally's shitting her, but apparently not. 

She's supposed to learn about the dangers of drink driving by volunteering at the hospital. Like she hasn't learned enough through this shitty power. 

She wouldn't even have been driving that night if she hadn't run into that weird bloke from college, and he hadn't gotten in her face, rambling about how she broken his heart and stole his virginity as if he's a Victorian princess. 

She tells him to fuck off, and heads to the bar, where Chloe's moaning about Jake for the tenth time; and for a second she just wants to go home. To not go through all the effort of a night out, the queue at the bar, the long drive to the party, the aching jaw in the morning after the pills, the pissed blokes pinching her arse. Most of the time it makes her feel good, but tonight she just wants it all to stop, to be left alone. 

Now she's alone all the time, and it's not even just the touching she misses, it's the soft way blokes acted round her. 

That first day, letting the boys and Kelly do the work. Curtis checking her out, licking his lips, unable to repress a smirk. Simon, taking these glances at her when he thinks she's not looking, swallowing dryly, throat working when she pulls a pose. Even Nathan, who she'd written off as either gay or mental, after he blew off her lead-ins in favour of leering at Kelly and her Croydon facelift; eyes glazed and mouth hanging open as she relaxes her jaw to take down the bottle neck. 

They're nice enough blokes, and they've been fine since the storm, but it just reminds her that any bloke getting within feet of her will swiftly lose that dreamy look and start in with the insults, the same old: 'slut! Bitch! Cockmonster! Cunt!' 

Now she's more like one of the boys, for fuck’s sake, and she ends up hanging around Kelly more than anyone, like those sad girls in primary school who never got chased on the playground, who end up pairing off with each other and fixating on horses or hobbies instead. 

She certainly doesn't plan to befriend the losers at the hospital, but somehow she and this girl Nikki end up on friendlish terms. 

It starts when she sees a pink leopard skin top left hanging over a chair. It's cute, and looks her size, so she holds it up against her and squints in the shiny reflective surface of a machine nearby, only to hear a London accent chirp up. 

'Um, is that my top?' 

Alisha drops it back, fluffing her hair with her gloves as she turns. 

'It was left out, I was just hanging it up,' she offers, not her most conciliatory tone, but not giving the girl any reason for a complaint. 

'Well, leave it. It's dry-clean only.'

'Didn't know Primark had such specific instructions.' Alisha sneers, but to her surprise the girl laughs. 

'You're smooth! You ever thought nursing might not be your area?'

'I'm only here because I have to be. Community service.'

'What'd you do?' the girl asks curiously. 'Shoplifting? You could probably clean out the whole shopping centre and it still wouldn't cost more than fifty quid.'

'Drink driving', Alisha offers. 'Such bullshit, I was just giving my mate a lift. This guy in our probation group, though, he's such a twat; he got it for nicking pic n' mix.'

The girl giggles, until she breaks off suddenly, gasping, and grabbing a mask. 

Alisha bites her lip, feeling useless; but even if she knew any first aid, her power leaves her pretty helpless. 

'It's not as bad as it looks,' the girl reassures her quietly. 'I just had a transplant, they say shortness of breath is the least of the symptoms for a few weeks. Can't have sex or a wank for at least two months after, apparently.' 

She pulls a face, and Alisha laughs loudly, surprising herself. 

After that, she always makes an effort to pop in on Nikki, and later, when she checks out, to visit her on the estate. 

'Welcome to my castle,' Nikki offers, hands outstretched in a sarcastic welcome. 'I know, it looks like a supported living flat.'

Alisha agrees, although silently, with what she congratulates herself is massive tact. 

It's pretty depressing, there's a pull-out ugly brown sofa and medical equipment in every corner. 

Alisha's still living with her mum and dad, which is so embarrassing, particularly now Kelly and Curtis have a place; so she can hardly throw stones, but at least her room has some decent accessories, to balance out the paint that she picked aged 13. 

'I only moved here a few months ago, the cardio department at Wertham's supposedly the best in the county, and they said I needed to be five minutes or less away once I got to a certain point on the list.'

'What about your family?' Alisha asks. 

She's pretty sure if she had Nikki's condition, her dad would have moved her into the hospital full-time. Or possibly just bought her another heart. 

Kel and Curtis are close to their parents too, Curtis often popping round to babysit for his little cousins. 

Alisha thought his family would disapprove of Kelly, to be honest - her parents aren't exactly enamoured on the rare occasion Kel's kipped on the floor after a night out, and they're not freaky religious like Curtis' lot, but apparently they've warmed to her, whether due to her massive crucifix or simply because she's not as sketty as the girls Curtis's mum warns him off.

It does sometimes mean Simon and Nathan giving each other an eye-roll when they mention home, though. 

Nathan's dad freaked out over his power, and while his mum worriedly offered for him to come home, he’s so far refused. Alisha’s not really sure why, it can hardly be a pride thing, he’s always begging change off them and getting Kelly to wash his pants. 

Simon, she pictured coming from...well, a family not unlike hers to be honest; but besides getting vital stats (two parents, one sibling), he's been tight-lipped. You'd think he was cracked out of an egg, or just appeared out of the air one day, like Superman.

Nikki presses her lips together. 

'Let's talk about something else, hmm? Now I'm not gonna die, I've been thinking about getting shit sorted. I need a job, all that boring crap, but I'm not really qualified for much, I missed so much school.'

Alisha shrugs. 'I dropped out of college, it was just bullshit tutors and creepy blokes. When community service finishes, my parents say I need to get a job, but I fancy travelling first. Like, maybe I could be a holiday rep, or an au pair, or something.'

Nikki raises an eyebrow. 'Don't see the parents lining up for nanny Alisha to be honest, mate.' She says with this mock serious concerned face that makes Alisha giggle in spite of herself. 

'Fuck off! Babies are well cute, how hard can it be?'

'Where'd you see this pilgrimage to child-rearing starting, then?'

'Dunno, anywhere with a bit of sunshine'd be nice. I've always fancied Vegas.'

Nikki pulls another face, this one sillier. 

'Oh come the fuck on, what's wrong with that? There's bars, limos, casinos, shops... Don't tell me, you're one of those people who don't like being a tourist and prefer to be called a 'traveller.'

Nikki grins. 'C'mon, I never had a gap yah!' she says in a posh voice. 'It's gotta be done, innit, Australia, Goa, Thailand, they're classics for a reason; only old people go to Vegas.'

Alisha plays with her phone, googling Thailand. She moans loudly when she hits a particularly gorgeous beach, showing Nikki the screen. 

'Fuck it, anywhere's better than here, right? I'll put up with the posh twats and their woolly bracelets if you can stick the senior citizens on the fruit machines.'

'It's a deal.' Nikki reaches out to shake hands, as Alisha jerks backwards. 

The moment’s a little awkward. Nikki doesn’t say anything, and neither does Alisha, but she doesn’t doubt that Nikki’s wondering, thinking about their past interactions. Realising that Alisha never sits next to her on the sofa without a cushion in between them; never took her temperature without the ever-present gloves; cringes a little if Nikki playfully bumps her arm, even if she’s in a jacket and long sleeves. 

She hopes Nikki just thinks she's frigid, or shy, like she had a sneaky uncle or whatever. She's careful to mention she's taking a break from dating, so at least Nikki knows it’s not personal, not that's she's, dunno, afraid of catching heart disease, or some shit. 

She'd like to tell Nikki, but Simon's always making a big deal out of how dangerous revealing their powers could be; and his word is pretty much law. 

Alisha’s a natural rebel, and she's hardly pining over him, even though when he uses his power she can't help but get a little wet despite herself; but it's rare enough that all five of them commit to a plan that she feels like she should at least mention it to the community service lot before she does say something. 

So she's surprised when it's Nikki who seems awkward today, mentioning the weather of all things like they're two grannies. 

Alisha nods noncommittally, bored, until all of a sudden Nikki asks: 'You know that storm a few months back?'

Alisha’s head snaps up from her phone instantly, which she curses herself for. 

'Um...the icy one?' 

Fuck. She plays for time. 

'Thought you moved here after that.'

'I did. But my donor was apparently there, the papers said there was a protest up Thamesmead power station that day.'

'...I thought they couldn't tell you his name,' Alisha offers weakly. 'Isn't that breaking some hospital rules or something? They wouldn't even let me check Facebook there, I had to spend all my data!'

Nikki rubs her fingers together like she's playing a little violin. Alisha flicks up her middle finger in reply.

'They can't. But it's not that big a town, and the bloke was young, I didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to google the death announcements in the paper.'

'Why would you do that? He's dead, who cares what he was doing? That storm was months ago.' Alisha looks away, trying to avoid Nikki's gaze. 

'Cos ever since I got this heart, I've been having these weird freak-outs.'

'Like what? The urge to protest at rallies and grow out your armpit hair?'

'No, like...freezing.'

'You freeze things?'

'I wish, at least that'd be fucking useful, I could make a cocktail or something. No, it's like I freeze. One minute, I'm sitting there, painting my toes or watching a DVD or something, then BAM, I can't move.'

'Fuuuuuck', Alisha whistles. 

‘Yeah. There are these signs all over the estate, CASH FOR POWERS, and there’s been weird shit in the news since I moved here, blokes breaking into jails and people nearby reckon the woman down the road does these…like, gypsy spells.’

Alisha sighs. She said she wouldn’t say anything, but she’s never been good at keeping secrets, and Nikki’s been through enough shit, she doesn’t deserve to sit like a statue in this pokey little flat, thinking she’s going mental. Besides, she seems like she’s figured out enough stuff on her own.

‘Look. Me and my mates from community service… well, we were in the storm that day, too’, she starts.

*

Nikki hasn't pressed the issue much since they talked about it. Both their powers seem such damp squibs that they really only bring them up when swapping stories (the time Kelly told Curtis’ mum how shit she thought their lunch was; the missing signs on the community centre noticeboard.) Alisha didn’t go into hers beyond the bare minimum; just sets her face, and when she does that, everyone backs down, even Kelly. 

But Nikki's obviously been thinking about it as they get ready, Nikki turning in a circle to show off her silk dress. 

‘Your power. Does it only work on blokes?

‘Dunno’, Alisha offers shortly. ‘Doubt it. I couldn’t face trying it on everyone that first day, it was bad enough with Curtis and Simon. I thought maybe it might not work on…I dunno, girls, or gay guys or whatever; but I didn’t fancy getting my hair pulled out in the club finding out.’

‘You didn’t…I dunno, try hugging your mum?’ Nikki asks gently. 

‘You don’t know my mum! I’m her little angel, can’t imagine she’d be calling me a skank, but… I dunno, the guys say they don’t really remember much, but…’

‘You do.’ Nikki finishes, glum. 

‘What if she’s like ‘I wish I’d never had you!’ or ‘You embarrass me,’ or something?’ Alisha whispers, quickly and under her breath, half-hoping Nikki misses the words. ‘It’s shitty enough that every bloke already thinks I’m like, superskank.’

‘They didn’t know you then. They’d have said it to anyone with your power, it wasn’t about you.’

‘They know me now, and they barely look at me. Curtis is all loved up with Kelly, Simon just looks at me like I’m this sad little…I dunno, damsel in distress. If I didn’t have tits, they’d probably forget I existed.’

‘You can’t base your whole life on how much blokes want to shag you’, Nikki offers, with a sneer. ‘Jesus, you must have been an easy date, a coffee, a bit of ‘I feel like I know you’, and a few compliments and you’d be sold.’

‘Fuck you!’ Alisha spits back, stung. ‘It was always them that wanted that shit, not me! You’re so fucking clever-clever, little miss Know It All, no wonder you never got laid.’

‘Maybe I just had some pride. Got sick of faking it with blokes who didn’t give a shit in the first place. I’d be all ‘Oh, oh!’’ – Nikki does a pretty respectable moan, Alisha has to admit, even furious – ‘all worried about their egos, whether they thought I was pretty or too skinny or flat-chested; and I wasn’t even fucking coming myself. Might as well not bother.’

Alisha digs her nails into her hand for a second, trying to calm down. 

She can fly off the handle, and Nikki’s not exactly known for her patience either; but the stuff about feeling skinny hits her for a moment. 

She’s not sure why, she’s never worried there herself, her waist’s slim and she’s busty; but for a second she remembers being 13 and the shortest girl in the class, the one who’d get ID’ed on nights out, how she’d obsess over her legs and whether they were stumpy or too short or thick like her mum’s… 

Nikki’s gorgeous, like looking at a painting. 

With other girls, Alisha’s using to casting a practised eye over them, comparing them mentally – ‘her tits are bigger than mine, but so’s her nose’, ‘she’s taller, but she’s got a gap in her teeth’ – but somehow with Nikki, she’s never even thought about it. 

The idea that Nikki could doubt her beauty for a minute is almost laughable; and instead of the pity that sometimes sparks when Alisha sees girls who’ve given up, or never even tried to chase the high of the stricken, glazed look men get, of the power, of knowing they’re lying down and they don’t mind if she walks on them… Well, she kind of admires Nikki’s approach. 

Recalls instead the time spent sweating and faking it while the guy checks himself out, demands endless reassurances, and for what? Compliments? Probably not the shagging itself, she comes harder at home with her Rabbit most of the time.

Nikki bites her lip. ‘Look…I’m sorry. It just pisses me off sometimes. You’ve got so much going for you. You’re funny, and…I dunno, you’re brave. You stick up for your mates. And all you can see is what they think.’

Alisha shrugs, awkwardly. It’s weird that she’s embarrassed, she normally loves hearing people tell her how great she is, but despite being more covered up than she is at community service, she feels like she’s naked. 

‘Maybe Simon was onto something. Maybe we got these powers for a reason. Maybe I deserved this, maybe I needed a break from blokes.’

‘Maybe it doesn’t say anything about you at all. It’s just shitty luck. Look at me, I got this power in a fucking heart, what does that say? I was meant to get this guy I never even met’s power? What if I’d missed the page that day, someone else’d be stuck in slo-mo. Don’t turn it around on yourself, that’s not what I meant. I just meant…don’t be with shitheads because it’s better than nothing. You’re not nothing on your own.’

‘I’m not on my own’, Alisha says. She almost sounds shy to her own ears, it’s bizarre. ‘But you’re right. I probably had more fun having a wank than I would have with most of the guys out there, anyway.’

Nikki, too, looks as embarrassed as Alisha’s ever seen her, she wouldn’t have imagined Nikki could look that way, considering how poised she comes off. 

‘I did have this idea…’ Nikki trails off. ‘I’ve still got my masks. I thought if maybe it was over my mouth, I wouldn’t be touching your skin, but you could get off…’ She rummages in her open knicker drawer, bringing out a slim, bullet-shaped vibrator. ‘Or I could…you know, with this, as long as I hold the top, not the base, it wouldn’t be a direct touch.’ 

‘So long as you don’t freeze in the moment. That’d be terrible’, Alisha grins, grabbing an oxygen mask from the open box of them next to the sofa. 

She pulls one over her face, striking a pose like she’s taking a nude. 

‘Of course, you’re alright, Miss Independent, you probably don’t need me,’ Alisha says, taking the piss; but Nikki’s already peeling off her dress and pulling down her knickers with a smirk. 

Alisha doesn’t know if her eating out skills will be as flawless as her blowjob technique, but she’s always thought practise is the only way you get good.


	3. simon/nathan: i

The thing is, Simon’s kind of…cool. You wouldn’t guess it the first day they met, him silent and on the outskirts all day, too-intense on the rare times a sentence was provoked out; but he is. 

His power didn’t show for the first few weeks, unlike the others, it was a slow burn; but even before that, he’s just…well, dead macho. Even after the probation worker. Alisha in tears, Kelly losing it, hitting him again and again, out of control. Curtis shocked silent, and Nathan, alright, freaking out, blood on his hands, his jumpsuit. Then Simon cuts in with an idea, all butch, like Clint Eastwood: ‘if there’s no body, there’s no crime.’ Might as well be chewing a matchstick, all in leather. 

Nathan likes to talk, a quiet room is his worst nightmare, but Simon doesn’t seem to need that, the feedback, the attention, giggles or slaps, doesn’t need eyes on him. He speaks up only when he has something to say, and the stuff he comes out with is usually pretty smart. He’s a man of many talents, Simon. 

The day Simon’s power showed up, Nathan asks him to come for a drink, he figures Simon’s earned one after the credit card, saving all their arses. 

Simon laughs: ‘Are you asking me out on a date?’, and Nathan’s about to flick him the V’s when he sees this sneaky grin, realises Simon’s being sarky, like he probably was at school, cocky little shit. 

They head to the bar, and it’s over a game of darts that turns out Mr. Perfect’s also got the aim of an Olympian. 

There isn’t much he can’t master putting his hand to it, neither. He can make fiddly things out of scrap paper, swans and planes and shit. He’s a walking encyclopaedia of music trivia, a bit emo for Nathan’s tastes, mind, but useful enough on the trivia fruities. He knows about films, stuff Nathan’s seen like Spiderman, but also the stuff they only play at the arthouse place in town, where you see a knocker only after sitting through two hours of dialogue first. He takes decent shots on a camera, reckons he knows his way around a computer too, about the only thing he hasn’t got is wheels, although he can ride a bike, which still puts him a notch above Nathan, particularly now. 

There’s nothing funny in it, mind. Nathan always wanted a brother, some male company, it’s what comes of growing up with a dad who’s a useless prick; so it’s understandable he’d cotton on to a bloke to learn from. Simon doesn’t brag about women, doesn’t use his power to try and bang girls, but sometimes he’ll quirk a little smile at a dirty joke Nathan makes, and he knows, _knows_ that Simon’s into nasty shit, stuff Nathan’s probably never even heard of. 

Nathan used to think he was…well, not necessarily great with the ladies, but he did alright, but since the storm, it’s like the old magic slips through his hands. His body doesn’t work right, he was never graceful or particularly suave, but even to his own ears, the lines sound tinny, fake.  
Used to be he’d be in silent competition with every bloke around him, or at least bonding, if they didn’t have the same tastes, chatting shit about getting laid, trying to sound cool, like he knows what he’s talking about; but he doesn’t do it so much any more. Doesn’t like the idea of getting from Simon the same disdainful, pitying look Curtis doles out when he boasts about the pussy he’s definitely getting; the flat ‘That’s what you like?,’ the one time he and his brother went out for drinks. 

Turns out Jamie and the old man got on like a house on fire, his dad thrilled at definitive proof that it’s Nathan that’s defective, not his own genes. They’re off on some bonding trip, his dad in the throes of your classic mid-life crisis, the only thing more pathetic than their father-son wakeboarding-in-the-day, bars-at-night plan; is the tiny hope Nathan had somewhere that they might ask him to come. 

Fat chance, his power’s put paid to that, and for the first time, he’s almost a little grateful for the useless fucking thing; the only thing worse than it would be if it disappeared tomorrow, and oops, everything stays shit. It’s the same reason he ignores his mum’s invitations to come back, the dog’s awkward attempts to back her up, his dad’s grudging apologies after the last argument they had, just prior to meeting his new and improved son. 

(‘I’ve tried wrapping you in cotton wool, paying off your little tantrums, but every time I try and work things out with you, you throw it back in my face! There’s always a reason why it’s my fault your life is fucked up, you didn’t like your mum’s boyfriend, you didn’t get your birthday party when you were a kid, blah blah fucking blah.’ 

Nathan had opened his mouth to get a word in edgeways, unleash his own home truths for dear old dad, when Mike stops, takes Nathan’s face in one hand like he used to do when he was a kid, and sighs. 

Nathan waits, curious enough at this break from the usual pattern to want to see what’s coming. 

Mike passes a hand over his eyes, pulls at a lock of greying hair. He looks old. He doesn’t even sound pissed-off now, just tired. ‘You’re bitter and you’re fucking brittle, just like your mother.’) 

When their service first started, he and Curtis used to party. Simon’s not one for the bars and clubs, he says; but Curtis always had girls throwing themselves at him, so Nathan’s happy enough to tag-a-long, clear up any cast-offs, although hearing racing successes constantly rehashed second-hand (first under 11 to place in the county, first on the Wertham team to qualify for 2012 trials, blah blah fucking blah.) seemed a bit fucking ironic, considering his own current condition. 

Besides, he’s not much of a nurse, and Curtis went hard even by Nathan’s own standards. He’s not one to cast judgement on a tactical chunder in the loos, or even pissing your jeans past the midnight hour; but Curtis’d keep on past anything: nosebleeds, fights, getting kicked out of all the open bars. He’s not a friendly drunk, either, particularly, comes out with weird, spooky shit that puts off even the most brazen starfuckers. 

Nathan’s comfortable around freaks, he figures none of them would win any prizes for normality even before the storm; but sometimes Curtis will catch his eye, look down, and he knows Curtis's seen something. He just doesn’t want to know what. It’s bad enough getting the mother hen bit from Kelly like he’s a frigging eunuch; without Curtis tapping his arm, the gentle gesture clearly against his natural instincts, but a necessity for everyone Nathan knows now. Warning him, creepy stuff: ‘Watch out for the exposed pipes in the showers, prick. It ain’t exactly up on it’s Health and Safety code.’ ‘Hey, asshole, shouldn’t smoke indoors.’ 

Him and Kelly getting together has lightened him up a little, at least, although now they’re combining their efforts to babysit. Alisha’s alright, she keeps a distance from them all, which is pretty understandable; but he feels an odd kind of kinship to her, if only because her power is almost as shit as his own. However, despite all attempts, she refuses to share any details about all the fun she and the gorgeous, snarky girl from the hospital apparently indulge in. It’s nice to know someone’s getting some, at least. 

He had a hard-on for Kel in the beginning, but her power magnified what he’s guessing was never a tactful nature, and after the first few days of awkward eye-contact, it presents itself with ego-massaging reminders like: ‘You’re more like a cousin or sumthin’, Nathan’, to Alisha and Curtis’ quickly concealed sharp grins. 

Simon’s about the only one who doesn’t piss himself laughing, just tells him he’ll meet another girl. Doesn’t even coat it in a joke or an insult like Nathan would, and he sounds so sincere that Nathan almost believes it. 

Opportunities are few and far between at the moment, though. 

It used to come naturally, pulling. There was always the awkward rush, to have another drink, to make a quick lunge, layer on another come-on, the little ‘Really?’ when despite all that, it actually worked. But now he feels like if anything, this power has made all him girly and shit, catching feelings quickly without even getting laid first. 

The balance of power’s shifted. That first day, he was nervous, sure, but confident that even if they all hate his guts, at least community service’d be memorable. Instead, Simon and Curtis have the amazing powers, have all the girls wetting their knickers for them, and he’s the useless one, that one that’s shit at fighting. The one who’s slow on the uptake, the clumsy spaz, who can’t quite follow what’s going on. The mummy’s boy turned homeless. 

Instead of getting attention like he used to, he feels like he’s competing with the others to catch Simon’s eye. Simon's the leader, the one Curtis offers a rare ‘Respect’ to, the one Alisha asks about powers. The one with the abs he catches Kelly checking out. (They share a locker room, it’s impossible to not notice, and Nathan figures he doesn’t have to worry about going bent, since he sneaks glances out of the corner of his eyes at Alisha and Kelly, too.) 

It makes him feel better, at any rate, that Simon doesn’t seem to worry about looking gay. He’s always got his camera out, filming them, and Nathan’s pretty sure that it’s him in focus the lion’s share of the time. It’s probably just documenting his power, the most visible; or because he’s, let’s face it, the most interesting of them, if not the brains or pussy magnet of the group. It still gives him a little glow, though, thinking about Simon sorting his videos and photos every evening, in that methodical, ponderous way he has. 

One time Simon takes a shot, catches Nathan’s eye and smiles a little as Nathan turns, surprised at the flash. ‘You’ve got good bone structure’, he says, not embarrassed or anything, just like it’s a fact. 

With anyone else, Nathan’d make a big thing out of it, a literal song and dance about how gay that sounded, every venture to the locker room a reminder not to perv over his clearly lusted-over form; but when he opens his mouth, for once it fails him, and in the end, he just smiles back awkwardly, nods, rolling his eyes, as if he’s in any way capable of modesty. 

To be honest, he’s not been as convinced of his own godlike beauty since the powers shit, though. Simon and Curtis are both fit. Curtis has the lean frame of a runner; biceps curving, abs clearly defined. Simon’s stockier, shorter, but like Curtis, he’s in shape, like he lives off something more substantial than crisps; with an arse that’s frankly sculpted like a peach. 

Nathan’s always been lanky, skinny, even. His face made up for it, but now when he checks himself out, he’s not congratulating himself on his fabulous hair or lush lips; it’s a sideways glare at a reflection in a window. A weird walk, back curving, joints loose. Eyes protruding slightly, the whites of them red and veiny. 

He’s started switching to pills rather than a joint after a long day, the wheezing hurts his chest when he smokes too much. Started noticing how his nose looks like his dad’s already; how he doesn’t feel like he’s forever young and so beautiful anymore, that nothing matters. 

It feels like everything matters, like he’s running out of time, that he already did. Maybe it’s the influence of the power, like he’s old already, scared of how easily his bones can fracture, of pain, of the meds (the ones he’s prescribed and the ones he isn’t). Not the throwaway idle wonders before all of this (‘what if I overdosed?’, ‘what if combining them all makes me shit myself?’) but instead the fear, not of what could happen but what couldn’t. What if one day, they just…stop working? 

*

The thing with the old lady this morning scared Curtis more than him, to be honest, it was over so fast; although after the nurse kisses her back to life, and Nathan stares for extended amounts of time after their departing forms, Curtis is with it enough to raise an eyebrow. 

Nathan offers weakly: ‘Hey, I’m traumatised, don’t know whether to feel horny or horrified!’

Curtis sneers. ‘You weren’t too upset to nick her kitkats.’ 

‘I’m…homeless?’ Nathan tries, but Curtis isn’t buying it. He doesn’t miss the little wince Nathan tries to cover with a short, sudden burst of whistling, either. 

‘Alright?’

‘Could have done without you hussing me in that shelter like a bag of potatoes, to be honest, but I don’t think anything’s broken’, Nathan says, with what Curtis considers to be characteristic ingratitude.

‘I saved your life!’ 

‘Hey, I’m good in a crisis, I’d have been fine! Clock my reflexes back there, covering with Chewy!’ 

Curtis can’t help but grin a little at the memory, even if it was Nathan embarrassing them both with the horny geek bit once again. 

‘Nice moves, spaz’, he says, but when they reach his and Kel’s, he doesn’t object to her offering Nathan a mug of tea, or that they end up organising for the gang to go out again tonight.

‘Still think he fancies you’, he says grumpily afterwards, but he’s putting it on, really, he trusts Kelly. 

She doesn’t think she’s pretty, he gets the feeling her ex fiancé wasn’t particularly heavy on the compliments, and he’s seen her looking at her feet when Alisha and Nikki get stared at. He tells her he thinks she’s gorgeous all the time, but she doesn’t get it. He’s seen her and Simon chatting together, though, heads bent low; how Nathan follows her about like a puppy, how even Alisha, the most withdrawn, will giggle with her, share a girly gossip, none of them quite immune to her warmth, and he’s just grateful. He didn’t know he even wanted a girlfriend like this, a girl he can have a chat with, just as happy twatting about together as fucking her, her soft hair around her face, the curve of her tits as her chest heaves. 

She laughs: ‘Oh yeah. Me and him, how would that have worked?’, and leans against his chest as she drops the mug in the sink. ‘Are you trying to start something, yeah?’ she says, nipping at his neck, and Curtis breaks, face cracking into a smile. 

‘Yeah. I am’, he says, pulling her jeans down, and they end up late to the bar. Again. 

*

Nikki wasn’t keen on Alisha’s mates at first. It wasn’t a recommendation that they met at community service, even considering this area. Kelly’s alright, but Curtis is kind of a weird twat, with the creepy second sight thing. She’s still waiting to see Simon’s power in action, so far she just doesn’t get it when Alisha tries to explain, he just seems like any other guy, bright enough, but a little dour for her tastes. Nathan’s probably her favourite, she’s hung around enough hospitals that his power provokes sympathy in her, although she knows from her own experiences never to show it. He’s annoying as shit, sure, but in a way that reminds her of Alisha when they first met; too much to prove, even to themselves. 

Which isn’t to say she’s gonna put up with his testing her limits like he’s some kind of overgrown toddler; however. 

After fifteen minutes in the alcove, snug and safe, a necessary evil for Alisha and Nathan at least, waiting for Kelly and Curtis to show up, Simon in the corner and quiet as ever, Nathan making increasingly explicit remarks about girly sleepovers; she starts making eyes at Alisha. Alisha makes vague noises at being polite, but self-control is hardly her forte, and when Nikki reminds her she’d made no promises about staying all night with the ABSO shitheads, she gives in. 

‘Ladies?’ Nikki chirps finally, ignoring Nathan’s leers, and they exit with their ever present handbags of medical equipment, giggling.

*

‘Curtis and Kelly are late,’ Simon offers, neutrally.

‘Not answering their phones,’ Nathan checks, shoving his battered Nokia away. ‘Probably shagging. Guess we’re third wheeling it tonight, unless you feel like using your power on some sweet innocent.’

‘I don’t think there’s many of those out tonight,’ Simon says drily, peeking around at the scantily clad girls – and boys – like he couldn’t just click his fingers and go home with whichever one he chose. ‘Besides, you know I can’t just…switch it on like that.’

‘I’m just saying, don’t babysit me all night, I’m fine.’ Nathan pauses, finishes the shot Nikki abandoned, smacking his lips after. ‘Girls love a bit of charity work, by closing I’ll be knee deep in pussy, all offering to get my groceries, drop round some meals on wheels.’

Simon laughs, and Nathan’s flattered, despite himself. 

Simon often laughs at his jokes, the self-deprecating ones, but also the ones aimed at Simon. It makes him more human somehow, all the heroic protecting others and the smart tactics is…well, not not sexy, obviously, but also kind of intimidating. Nathan's most charmed by Simon when he lets the mask slip, babbling excitedly on superheroes or 80’s bands; or when he shares a nugget of jealously guarded personal information, before looking furious at himself. 

He can’t be lonely, so Nathan assumes he just saves the deep and meaningfuls for when he’s not slumming – it’s pretty obvious Simon didn’t grow up on this estate, and while Nathan normally scorns posh wankers, it kind of adds to the intrigue. 

He remembers teasing Simon that first day, calling him a virgin, and while obviously he was taking the piss; Simon hasn’t used his powers to pull that he’s seen. He keeps mum on exactly how his power works, but it seems like enough attention and he just…shines out. 

The first time was after they buried the bodies. Simon explaining in his shy way how he’d palmed the probation worker’s credit card. Kelly, the kindest, was first to compliment him, and even Nathan couldn’t resist a ‘nice one, weird kid,’ against his own better judgement, Alisha and Curtis looking impressed. 

Then suddenly, as if accompanied by the chorus of a thousand knicker elastics snapping, and it's like Simon’s the fittest person they never noticed. 

Nathan couldn't look away too long, it was like the hottest porn he’d ever seen in his life was playing right in front of him, but checking out the others reactions, pupils dilated, mouths hung open, dazed-like, he doesn’t feel too embarrassed. 

He mutters a low, breathy ‘You’re fucking amazing’, head tilted. Curtis nods excitedly, the first time they’ve ever agreed: ‘You’re cool, man.’ (A fairly restrained reaction by Nathan’s standards, especially considering that, at that point, he’d cheerfully have sunk to his knees in front of the entire group, had Simon suggested it; but Curtis considered it gushing and didn’t look Simon in the eye for the next week even so.) 

Simon looks blissed-out, flushing joyously, big blue eyes sparkling, and well… 

Nathan’s admiration has always gone straight to his cock, to be frank, and he’d crossed his legs awkwardly, squirming in the plastic chair. 

Alisha follows suit a split-second after, and after a few seconds, even Curtis looks a little uncomfortable, enough to provoke Nathan into dreamily conjuring up a sentence, like he’s half-stoned, desperate to conceal how much he wants to knock over the stupid geek and just…ride him ‘til this creepy power shit runs it's course and stops infecting him with gayness. 

‘So I…guess these three aren’t the only one with “super” powers?’ He flops his wrist and lisps the super part, and Simon’s suddenly narrowing his eyes, suspicious, and it’s like the all lights in the room have suddenly switched off. The others cough, Simon pulls at his already-buttoned collar, and the storm discussions begin for what feels like round 50. 

Nathan stays out of them mostly, and they take this as sour grapes, considering the awesome shittasticness of his own power, and they’re right. He’s sick to the fucking, crumbling back teeth of this crap, so he doesn’t feel the need to overshare his own little confessions, then or now. 

It’s not his fault Simon’s power is apparently some kind of magical roofie, or that he can’t help but beam a little when Simon just mentions, like it’s obvious, how they’re best friends. Or how the idea of Simon shacking up with some slag down the club actually makes Nathan feel like he does when his power decides to do it’s worst, cold and achey, down to his bones. 

His own power does nothing as cool as flare up or down, just…stays, like it was always part of him. He was never any threat to Curtis’ role as the athletic one, it’s not like it affects his life in a huge, dramatic way. Just a hundred little shitty ones.

The first thing he did, naturally, was some solo experimentation. Turns out he can still wank, so hurrah for small favours, life is worth living, et cetera et cetera. 

He has to go slower than before, though; like he’s trying to make love to himself each time, instead of a quick tug. Like he should be sprinkling his shitty mattress with rose petals, asking himself for his own hand in marriage. 

It chafes a little (not literally, that’s another thing on an endless list of sensations to be avoided) - he’s never been good with delayed gratification (as more than one girl has mentioned, to be honest) and now instead of his regular three minute yank before bed, it’s either find some decent Wi-fi (or a place to hide porn mags now that his locker stash has been discovered) and carve out at least a quarter-hour of Nathan-time, or else skip it altogether. No more shirt up and pants down within seconds, whenever he’s bored, sleepy, hungry if the machines aren’t giving out (which gave him an awesome head-rush, and which naturally, is now out. God forbid he has a fall like some geriatric, he’d have to wait for that prat probation worker to rescue him in the morning, some hope.)

There’s definitely no more trying to suck himself off; bouncing on the bed with some bird like they’re trying to break it; getting in a hot tub with a bunch of blokes, who he’s pretty sure are not only horny but in whatever passes for the London mafia, and still figuring, what the hell, life’s short. 

Even a hand-job from himself takes planning. Getting fucked, fucking someone’d probably require…he doesn’t know. Some kind of harness? At the very least, the kind of patient preparation that’s completely at odds with his style of seduction. 

He scowls, lines up another shot, aware he’s swiftly progressing from pissed to wasted, that now would be a sensible time to slow down, and the spiteful resentment he feels at the new, sensible voice in his head is enough for him to swallow down another burning short. 

‘C’mon, Simon’, Nathan mumbles, ‘catch up, you’re fallin’ behind.' He hiccups a little, lurching over to drop his arm around Simon’s shoulder companionably. 

‘I don’t really drink’, Simon says. 

Nathan’d feel like a pussy. For god’s sakes, they’re in a bar, in their twenties, on the pull. It’s pretty much illegal not to be hammered. 

But Simon fronts it out, and Nathan backs down. ‘More for me’, he shrugs, belching afterwards. He can feel his stomach turning, that it’ll probably only a couple more shots before he’ll need a piss and probably a puke too, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Simon looks awkward, the way he does sometimes, still, like the habit of having them as friends isn’t one he’s quite acclimatised to yet, and he pauses. ‘I think you should slow down. Your meds…’ 

Nathan scowls, and Simon tries a different tactic. 

‘I thought you wanted to get laid. You’ll be passed out before closing at this rate.’ 

‘’M a better fuck drunk. Booze is a n’tural lube for ladies, doncha know? Juices ‘em up.’ Nathan makes a crude sound, mouth wet. ‘Course, your power does that for free.’ 

He staggers a little as he turns, back to Simon, who reaches out a hand to steady Nathan’s arm. 

‘Get off’, Nathan slurs in response. ‘Why don’t ya fuck off and get laid already? Don’t need a minder. C’mon, do ya thing, half the boys and all the girls’ll be creaming themselves, you c’n have your pick.’

Simon doesn’t know why he’s even engaging when Nathan’s like this, he should focus on getting him outside for some air at least, away from the flashing lights and shoving bodies. Instead he darts his eyes down, embarrassed. ‘I don’t want…that.’

Nathan rolls his eyes. To unintentionally comic effect, he’s already squinting. ‘Jesus, alright, no homo, you’re not into guys. Just saying, every hole’s a goal, believe me.’

Simon grimaces at the crude phrasing, before slowly processing the last part of that sentence, neck prickling with sudden heat. 

Nathan can be moody, but he’s apparently way past feeling pain or that matter, embarrassment, as he sways slightly, winks. 

‘Let’s go’, Simon decides, tugging Nathan’s sleeve, as the other boy lists to the side, leaning on him heavily, and they stumble outside. 

The cold air doesn’t do much to sober Nathan, but it’s typical that talking about sex has put him in a better mood, and he’s a cuddly drunk, rambling in a drony voice. 

He pulls out a bottle of tablets (they were frisked on the way in, and Simon really doesn’t want to know where he had them concealed all evening, considering he’s only in a thin vest and jeans), but luckily his struggle with the child-proof cap gives Simon the opportunity to confiscate whatever they are. 

‘Y’ on a religious kick?’ Nathan asks. ‘Don’t wanna get laid, don’t wanna get pissed… ‘Thought you were a right stoner?’

Simon’s brows furrow quizzically. ‘Why?’

‘You’re always so…’ Nathan pulls a face, eyes boggling, but even though he’s half-cut, Simon can see the imitation’s not terrible, recognises his own expression, and he grins a little, reluctantly. 

‘You’re one to talk’, he says, wryly. 

‘Should try some poppers, that’d relax ya…’ 

Simon may not be the walking, or rather, currently stumbling, pharmaceutical catalogue Nathan is, but he’s been on enough websites to know what kind of bars people take poppers in, and to hazard a fairly good guess as to what purpose; and he blushes furiously, annoyed at himself for doing so. 

He hopes Nathan’s too out of it to notice, but when he sneaks a glance at the other boy, he’s glassy-eyed, looking right at him, at…well, his mouth. His ears start to buzz, and he clenches his fists, digs his nails into the palms, hard. 

It's not that Simon's immune to their powers, the influence of them so much as…Well, Nathan seems particularly susceptible. There was the thing with the strange baby, it's mind control. His inability to know when to stop, that leads him into situations with angry tattooists, crazed Christians, and lactokinetics. 

Simon’s only direct experience of a power was Alisha’s touch, the revulsion that rose up as if from nowhere, the cruel words he said, concepts he’d never considered. If that’s how his power affects the others, if Nathan does seem somehow…vulnerable to it; the thoughts he’s toyed over for so long are already wrong; never mind the barely conscious condition Nathan’s in. 

Instead, he pulls him gently along, leads him to the mezzanine where he knows Nathan camps out. He decides discretion is the better part of valour, taking off only Nathan’s shirt and shoes when he finally gets him to lay down on the cheap mattress. 

Nathan whines a little, pulling at the button of his jeans. Simon doesn’t know whether he’s uncomfortable sleeping in clothes, or still in the affectionate/horny stage; but he doesn’t trust himself to do anything more than stroke the other boy’s hair gently. 

‘S’rry,’ Nathan mumbles, ‘’m a lush, didn’t mean to cockbl’ck ya…night.’ He stays quiet for a while, eyelids drooping, and Simon assumes he’s out; when, so low and slurred, he’s not sure he didn’t imagine it, Nathan manages: ‘I’d let ya. With me…I mean. If you wanted.’ 

Simon pulls away his hand like he’s been burned, steps back so quickly he almost stumbles down the low steps. 

He straightens his back, methodically fetches a plastic bowl, aspirins, and water, arranges them by the mattress. 

Texts home that he’s staying at a friend’s, on the off chance they’re concerned. 

Locates Nathan’s charger and plugs his own phone in; he’d do Nathan’s too, except he’s pretty sure it’s stored in the no-man’s-land of his jeans. 

He takes off his own shoes, stacks them next to each other, under a chair and tucked out of the way, and balls up his jacket into a vague pillow shape. 

It’s only when all that is done that he weaves slightly down to the bathroom, where he shuts the urinal door, paintwork still cracked from that first day of community service; and allows himself to wank furiously.


	4. simon/nathan: ii

‘Y’stuck around? Nathan manages, mouth dry, when he finally wakes. 

Simon passes over a bottle of water, and Nathan takes it without comment, just slurps, spilling half of it down his chest. When he slings the empty bottle aside, Simon chucks a packet of sweets at him. Nathan’s hoping blearily for Haribo, but it’s just mints. 

‘Your breath’, Simon says drily.

Nathan waves his hand in a sardonic thank you, but pops one in his gob, anyway, it does taste like something died there between last night and this morning. 

‘My family are…strict’, Simon offers, after a pause. ‘Besides, I couldn’t just leave you here.’

‘That’s sweet’, Nathan quips.

He means it to come out nasty, to get Simon to knock it off with the minder routine like Nathan’s fucking five; but he’s distracted, hungover and tired. He wasn’t at the blackout phase last night, but everything’s still a little…hazy, and from Simon’s quick, shy glances, he gets the impression he said something, did something even. 

Instead, his words come out soft, even god forbid, romantic, like something he’d say to a girl if he was trying to get in her knickers. 

For a second he wonders if he tried it on with Simon, but he can’t imagine Mr Charisma turning down quality gash – or cock, who knows? He could be an equal opportunity fuck magnet – for the not so enticing opportunity to pour Nathan into bed and hold his hair back. 

He probably just had a sleepy wank or a loud wet dream last night or something, embarrassed himself for the n’th time in front of the stupid fucks that are apparently now his best friends. 

‘Anyway…thanks for the caretaking service. If I puked on you, let me know how much the dry-cleaning bill is, I’ll pay it off in instalments. But for now, I’m well overdue for a lonely hangover wank, so unless you feel the need to supervise that, I guess you can see yourself out?’

‘ _Are_ you lonely?’ Simon asks. 

Nathan’s so close to telling him to fuck off, unofficial leader and apparent self-elected babysitter or not; but there’s not even a hint of humour in Simon’s tone, or his face. He looks like he genuinely wants to know. Like he’s on edge, waiting for the answer.

Nathan’s still raw, head pounding, the familiar ache in his limbs starting, and he can’t honestly be fucked with trying to think up some hilarious witticism that’ll shred Simon, make him stop acting like such a fucking weirdo. He just shrugs. 

‘Sure, man.’

The last thing he expects after that lame little confession is for Simon to suddenly kiss him, hands cupping his face like he's afraid Nathan will break. Or for Simon's immediate reaction, as they eventually gasp for air to be: 'I should go.'

‘You’re gonna kiss me like that and leave?’ Nathan sputters incredulously.

Simon pauses, looking torn. 

'I didn't have you figured for a cocktease', Nathan keeps on, goading. ‘Pictured you more of a kinky shag, to be honest.’

‘You’ve thought about you and me…fucking?’ Simon asks slowly, the obscenity sounding odd, foreign in his mouth. He moves closer, so near Nathan can feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. ‘How?’ 

‘I’d…sit on your face’, Nathan manages, dizzy still, the sensation not aided by Simon’s intense stare, barely blinking. 

‘What else?’ Simon asks, eager, like he looked the first time his power manifested. 

‘Get on top, ride you…wrap my thighs round your head. Tie you up in chains.’ Nathan's getting breathless, cock twitching, images from solitary sessions flooding his mind. ‘You doing me, balls deep. Bending me over the benches in the locker room.’

Simon’s not unaffected himself, by the looks of him, he’s biting his lip so hard it’s white. ‘Where would you come?’ 

‘On your face’, Nathan says, instantly. It’s a cliché for a reason, although he can’t think about it too much, the idea of Simon’s cheekbones hollowing, come dripping past his jawline, unless he wants to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy within the next thirty seconds. 

‘…N’ your abs’, Nathan admits, eventually. 

‘Like a porno. ...You want it rough?’ Simon asks, tone a little flat. But then, he’s never been the most emotive bloke. 

Nathan’s not embarrassed, though. You don’t go through life being a prick without facing a few consequences, and he’s no easier as a mate, or god forbid, a boyfriend, than he probably was as a wee little shit. He’s tried to avoid the obvious injuries, never did develop much of a tolerance for blood or gore despite their little extracurricular adventures; but he can’t quite cotton on to the idea of being treated like china, even if this is his first sniff of a shag since the storm.

‘Fuck, yeah. Call me a slut. Slap my arse. Break me in half. ‘Course, that won’t be much of a challenge anymore…’ 

‘You’d like it too much,’ Simon mutters, darkly. 

‘So… _are_ we gonna do this?’ Nathan asks. Not the suavest way to go about locking it down, to be honest, the incredulous tone only making him sound even less sure of himself. He’s still not entirely convinced this isn’t a wind-up, and while he doesn’t want to talk himself out of a sure thing, as he has half-a-dozen times before; he’s not sure exactly what Simon’s expecting. 

‘Yes’, Simon confirms, smiling like he has something up his sleeve. 

‘Cause, I gotta tell you, I’m a bit short of moves recently, I’m thinking reverse cowgirl and all that kama sutra bollocks might be pushing it, know what I mean?’ 

Normally Nathan’d be trying to take the lead, bones or no bones, especially when it’s only in the last hour that Simon’s even confirmed any interest in guys at all; but Simon seems so confident, so sure about this; that Nathan’s curious enough (and yes, fine, pathetically into the twat) to forsake any tiny amount of pride left, and let Simon do whatever his geeky mind has conjured up. 

‘Don’t worry. We’re gonna take things slowly,’ Simon promises. 

‘What, foreplay and snogging, all that mushy shit?’ Nathan tries out a sneer. It’s fairly shop-worn at this point, but he’s not quite beyond at least a token resistance to girliness, even if he is playing the role. 

Simon just nods, moving up to Nathan on the mattress, as he reaches over to his metrosexual man bag, as Nathan’s christened it; and retrieves a small bottle of lube. 

‘Someone was a Boy Scout’, Nathan observes, but the quip’s impact is lessened a little, broken by pants, as Simon kisses him slowly, slower than Nathan's ever gone himself. It feels like five minutes before Simon even uses his tongue, he’s so occupied, nuzzling Nathan’s neck, kissing his chest.

‘You’re all red’, Simon observes, wryly, and Nathan looks down, he is, up to his nipples, like he’s a fucking teenager or something.

‘Oh, shut up’, he manages, but then Simon has his boxers down, creeps downwards ‘til Nathan can feel his breath on his balls, even feel his face contorting into that stupid smug smirk, as Simon’s tongue laps at his arse. 

No one’s ever done this to Nathan before (not that he blames them, it’s probably not the most tempting proposition down there), and at first he’s pretty sure he’ll just explode in seconds from the novelty alone, but as soon as his hips so much as buck, Simon stops, like the world's most inventive torturer. 

The combination of the sensation, rimming, the filthiest fucking shit; and the pace, so achingly slow, when Nathan’s used to the pound, jackhammering away; is overwhelming, though. He can feel himself sweating, so fucking gross, his thighs quivering and legs parted like some lame virgin, and he fists Simon’s hair shakily, struggling to get purchase on the short strands. 

Just when he’s sure that he can’t take any more, Simon switches, a finger pushing gently past his entrance while Simon's mouth shifts, sealing over his cock, with an odd, fizzy sensation. 

‘What’ve you got…’ he slurs, although Simon’s mental if he’s expecting full sentences at this point, any words that aren’t whimpers are really pushing it as a demand. 

Simon’s silent look seems to encapsulate the position they’re in currently, and he pulls away for a second, opens his mouth to show a mint on his tongue. 

Nathan whines like a struck dog at the loss, and Simon allows himself a small smile before dipping his head again, without actually making contact. ‘C’mon, I’ll shut up…anything, just…go back, keep…doing that thing with your tongue,’ Nathan begs. 

‘Nah, you can keep talking shit. I’m used to it’, Simon grins, ducking to avoid Nathan’s flailing shove. 

‘Shit, how many fucking props have you got? The lube smells like tutti frutti for fuck’s sake, where’d you even find it? 

Nathan rambles, he feels like he’s delirious, like he’ll float away at any second, and suddenly he realises the money-shot’s approaching already, and now is pretty much the last chance to warn Simon that if he doesn’t pull away, he’s gonna get a faceful or mouthful in pretty short order. 

‘I’m gonna come…I’m so close…Hey! Simon!’ Nathan grits out, finally, with the last self-control he has left, but Simon just keeps sucking, and Nathan shudders, gone. 

*

‘Pretty sure you just fucked my brains out,’ Nathan manages, croakily. 

It’s only been about three minutes, but it’s still probably the longest silence Simon’s ever heard from him, and he’s relieved despite himself. It’s pretty obvious that Nathan enjoyed it, the odd, salty taste in his mouth attests to that; but between his own inexperience and Nathan’s power, he was a little more nervous than the other boy could guess. 

‘Seriously! Motor skills, that’s gone…’ Nathan pulls an idiotic face, which Simon’s lips quirk at despite himself. ‘Language…Bye! You sure that’s not your power?’ He pauses. ‘Anyway, what about you? I know you get off being looked at, but don’t tell me you can come just from giving head, no-one’s that fucking lucky. I can do you, you know, it’s not catching.’ 

Simon raises his eyebrows at this shift in mood, and Nathan keeps talking, like it’s confession when he was a kid. ‘Just saying. Something off the A-List, flying, teleporting, fine. But decreased bone density? That’s my thing?’ He pulls a face, and Simon smiles patiently, still waiting. 

‘Doesn't make you feel good about yourself, y’know.’ 

‘You know,’ Simon pauses. ‘...In the comics, the power you get reflects something about you.’

‘Oh, brilliant! So yours shows how awesome you are, and mine reflects that I'm a massive fuck up. 

‘Or maybe that you're not as tough as you make out.’ Simon kisses Nathan’s shoulder, traces his cock, no real intent after so short a time; but Nathan still shudders a little. ‘Maybe I needed to feel good about myself. I wasn't exactly well-balanced before all this.’ 

It’s the most Simon’s ever revealed about his life before the storm, apparently not the sunshine and rainbows Nathan had figured, and the admission undoes him a little bit. He’s not great with emotional shit or big long talks, but he squeezes Simon’s hand briefly, before the most pertinent information filters through. 

‘So…were you really a virgin?’ 

Simon shrugs, smiles. 

‘Yeah, right!’ Nathan snickers, unconvinced, but Simon’s open expression doesn’t shift. 

‘Seriously? …How’d you know to…all of that?’

Simon snickers. ‘I googled it.’ He admits. 

‘You little pervert! When’d ya do that, when I was passed out?’

‘The first day your power manifested. I wanted to know how to make it good without hurting you ,’ Simon confesses, and Nathan for one of the few times in his life can think of almost nothing to say, just licks his lips, awkward. 

‘Oh.’ He pauses. ‘Shit, I’ve been missing a trick, should have turned up at my computer lessons once in a while, clearly! Well, just so’s you know, you succeeded, spectacularly.’ He’s almost in Simon’s lap, he’s so close, but he figures the guy just had his tongue in Nathan’s arse, he probably doesn’t need to worry about looking a pussy in front of him. ‘So…no-one’s ever…?' He gestures his fingers, then puffs his lips out, waggling his tongue. 

Simon shakes his head, patiently. 

‘Soooo…technically, I’m the best you’ve ever had?’

Simon rolls his eyes, gently pushing Nathan away so he can turn over. ‘I’m really starting to reconsider that whole talking policy, you realise?’

‘Aw, c’mon! You haven’t even let me suck you off yet, I swear, I’m a giver!’ Nathan protests; and despite Simon’s better judgement, he laughs and lets the other boy tug hopefully at his trousers.


End file.
